


In Which Ulfric is Suddenly Changed into a Chicken

by Bluskyy



Series: The Certifiably Insane Savior of Nirn [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: . . . yeah, Skyrim Glitches, its a crack fic, what even is this? a crack fic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 10:35:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4388522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluskyy/pseuds/Bluskyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ulfric had always found the Dragonborn's antics amusing.</p><p>Until the day she turned him into a chicken...</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Ulfric is Suddenly Changed into a Chicken

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I was walking around the Palace of the Kings and managed to *ahem* accidentally turned Ulfric into a chicken, disintegrate my follower, and turned the entire Windhelm guard into mudcrabs . . . all in all, a rather satisfactory day.

“ULFRIIIIIIIIC!”

Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak winced when he heard his name screeched from across the Palace of the Kings. 

“My Jarl,” Galmar murmured. “Shall we send her away?”

By 'her', he meant the certifiably insane Savior of Nirn.

Ulfric waved him off. “No. I doubt you could. But, for all her problems, the Dragonborn is harmless.”

Linnea ran toward them, her usual insane, unnaturally wide grin on her face. “Guess what I found!” she said loudly. (If she had ever said anything quietly, Ulfric would probably eat his own head out of shock, because that would be the day the world officially ended.)

They had played this game often. She would come sprinting in with an odd amulet, a new spell, or some other equally as interesting spoil of war; once, she had come in with a shriveled head, claiming it had once belonged to a vampire who had died ages ago and he would listen to her story of how she came to acquire them. He still wasn't sure whether or not he believed her for most of them, but they were interesting . . . in their own way.

Galmar cleared his throat disapprovingly as she caught her foot on the table and tripped head-over-heels, managing to catch herself in a roll before continuing toward the throne at full tilt. Ulfric ignored his second in command as the small Breton leapt on top of his throne and leaned over him, her face mere inches from his.

“What did you find?” he asked evenly, no longer bothered by her complete ignorance of personal space.

Unlike most everyone else in his hold, he rather found her . . . amusing, not to mention a powerful ally. Linnea had almost single-handedly defeated an Imperial Legion with nothing but a staff of flames (which she hadn't actually used the magical portion of it, preferring to just bash the soldiers' heads in) and her Voice.

“I found this!” She held a staff above her head. It didn't look that intimidating or awe-inspiring, the only significant feature was the three faces with gaping mouths at the head. 

“Well . . . I didn't really find it, I got it as a gift, but it's really cool don't ya' think?” she said in a rush.

“What is . . . that?” Galmar asked suspiciously, not understanding a single word she had said. Linnea shrugged.

“A wabbajack!” she answered, as if they should know what it meant. She looked affronted when they didn't recognize it, and it was completely their own faults that they didn't. As if they were the ones who were crazy.

“More specifically, what does it do?” Galmar asked. Another shrug.

“What did you want to show me?” Ulfric asked peaceably.

“Hold still.”

“Wait, wha—”

And then, in a flash of red light, the soon-to-be-High King of Skyrim simply disappeared.

And was replaced.

By a chicken.

The hall was stunned into silence. The Dragonborn, had just turned her commanding officer, into a chicken.

A chicken!

Then the silence was broken by a squeal of, “LOOK HOW CUTE HE IS!” accompanied by the aforementioned Dragonborn snatching up the previously-Ulfric-now-turned-chicken chicken and hugging it tightly to her chest.

Then Galmar attempted to take said chicken/Jarl while screaming “CHANGE HIM BACK!” and “COME BACK HERE, DAMMIT!” resulting in a massive chase round the long table, through the entirety of the second level, finally ending with a worn out Galmar, a cackling Linnea, and a very confused chicken in the kitchen with the general wearily watching the Dragonborn try to reach the cheese on the shelf while balancing the chicken on her hip and several blocks of cheese on any other available surface of her mismatched armor.

After the last slice of cheese had disappeared into the bag Linnea constantly carried with her—which probably weighed about twice as much as she did—she ran over to Galmar, who had set himself at the entrance to the kitchens as a two-hundred pound wall of muscle. He knew that if he tried to chase her, she would probably dive between his outstretched arms again and keep running, at least here, he could keep her in one place.

“That was fun,” she said evenly, sounding as sane as she had ever been, bouncing on her heels as she looked up almost vertically in order to maintain eye contact as he blocked the entrance.

She blinked those unnerving, colorless eyes at him innocently. Galmar mentally added that to his ever increasing list of things to be wary about whenever he was near the Dragonborn. Subconciously, he checked his pockets to confirm his coin purse was still his. 

The bird under her arm gave a tired squawk. Galmar felt the same: he didn't even have the words or the breath to say anything to her; instead, he settled for glaring at her disdainfully. 

She, as usual, was unaffected by the ferocity of his glare.

Then Linnea tenderly held out his jarl, carefully handing Galmar the chicken, surprising both the bird and the man with her gentleness. Unfortunately, with both hands occupied with carrying his Jarl, he couldn't stop Linnea from grabbing the bag of coins from his pocket and sprinting away, laughing as he shouted curses after her.

“You little thief,” he muttered darkly. The chicken in his hands gave a resigned bleat of agreement, looking much smaller carried in his large, rough hands than it had when being toted around by the Dragonborn. 

It shuddered, the only warning before Galmar and no-longer-chicken Ulfric tumbled to the floor.

Ulfric was panting, his adam's apple jumping with each swallow. He lay back, resting his head on the cool stone floor and kneading his eyes—thankfully fully human again, like the rest of him.

Galmar sat down heavily beside him. In spite of it all, he gave a rough chuckle.

“Still think she's harmless?”

Ulfric's only response was a pained groan.

**Author's Note:**

> OmyGOD. Guys. I am SO. SORRY. For making you read this absolute trash.
> 
> Well.
> 
> I didn't Make you.
> 
> But I wrote this garbage.
> 
> So I apologize for That at least.


End file.
